Violin Grimm
by 1.126.000
Summary: It was something of a legend, a rumor among the Australian natives that the sky, full of wondrous spirits, could be made to cry.
1. Chapter 1

_The four of them watched from where they'd taken shelter, watched as Medic approached._

_"Doc…"_

_No answer. He simply passed between them, saying nothing and making no eye contact and indeed no indication at all that anyone had spoken. _

_And then he was gone._

* * *

The trick, thought Sniper, was to keep absolutely still - _that's_ how a bloke best kept cool.

A few of the others were nearby, wearing as few clothes as was socially acceptable, all trying to find relief from the searing heat that made the rooftops sizzle and the air waver and shimmer. Heavy - poor bugger - was faring the worst. He was a man used to harshest cold and winters severe, and for him even the everyday summer sun proved difficult to tolerate; little wonder he lay flat on his back in the sandy soil.

Next to Heavy sat Engineer. Having lived and worked in the varying heat and humidity of Texas for the majority of his life, Sniper knew him more than capable of enduring such extreme chronic temperatures, though he'd do so begrudgingly. It was the fundamental difference between the Texan and the Australian; where the heat drained one of his stamina, it settled deep into the bones of the other, lending life and strength and spirit. Though it would surprise many, perhaps no one understood this better than Medic.  
The doctor often asked about Australia, saying it was a place many Germans - himself included - wished to visit. Oddly, though, it wasn't the topography or climate he was most interested in, nor was it the flora and fauna or history; it was the _aborigines_ - the indigenous peoples of the land. Their culture and beliefs, all their myths and legends - the doctor was like a seagull on a chip about these things, he just couldn't get enough. To say it was the last thing Sniper expected from a man of science was a gross understatement.

It had become routine, that whenever Sniper required prolonged attention of the Medi Gun variety, the two exchanged stories to help pass the time – Sniper, Dreamtime stories told him by the blackfellas, the Australian natives - and Medic, folktales of a dark kind, of _Die Gebrüder Grimm, _decidedly more morbid than anything Sniper had heard as a child.  
It made sense that the doctor would enjoy such stories, laced with shadows as they were, but Sniper couldn't help but wonder who came first in the greater equation. Had Medic sought after them out of an in-born inquisitiveness, or was it _because_ of them that the first sickly seeds of his curiosity for all things morbid were sown?  
Oh well. What did it matter? Strange as the topics of conversation might be, Sniper enjoyed Medic's company, ever thankful to talk with someone who, for once, wasn't trying to pry into his past.

"Ah don't know 'bout you fellas," said Engineer just then, "but ah ain't _never_ seen the likes uh this."

No one had. Some two weeks earlier the high temperatures had rolled in, bringing with them the issuance of a ceasefire. Dehydration and heat-exhaustion, the higher-ups said, were very real dangers, and the health risks associated with physical exertion in such extremes too great. Medic agreed and Soldier, in true Solider fashion, disagreed, bellowing about Respawn. Spy argued that if the heat made it impossible to engage in any meaningful combat to begin with, then why bother?  
That did the trick.

So the heat had rolled in and smothered the ground, wrapping itself around every building and every_one_ and every_thing, _ and in the beginning the A/C had kept conditions tolerable.  
Then the electricity went.  
Engineer, Sniper noticed, had become increasingly restless after that, and suspected the Texan's constant trips for more ice and/or drinks (thank God the refrigerators and freezers were well insulated) were merely compensation for his powerlessness to remedy the problem and fact that it was now substantially hotter indoors than out.

All boiled quietly.

"I'm bored," declared Scout.

No one responded.

"And it's too freakin' quiet. Freakin' _hate_ silence..."

"Y'know what _your_ problem is?" said Engineer looking around at him, "You operate on too crude a frequency to appreciate its subtle beauty. The way you run that mouth uh yours I'm surprised you're familiar w-"

"Didn't understand a single word just came outta your mouth, hardhat," said Scout, "Oh and FYI, I _am_ familiar." He grinned. "Silence: dat sweet sound I hear when the military fairy ain't yellin' and Old Man Nazi ain't playin'. _'Music,'_ my ass. Ya ask me, dat whiny old thing sounds like sh-"

"Like vhat, Herr Scout?"

Now it was everyone else's turn to grin. Medic's timing was nothing less than brilliant sometimes.

"There he is!" said Engineer.

"Doktor …" croaked Heavy in greeting.

"Still hot as Hades inside?"

"Of course. Zhough not for much longer."

"What?"

"Nuzhing," said Medic. "Herr Sniper? I vas hoping - may I have a verd vith you?"

At the mention of his name Sniper looked up. Medic stood dressed about as casually as the rest of them, his shirt open and in places a shade darker from sweat. Unusual seeing the doctor like this, sans coat and equipment.

"Uh … sure," he said, partly confused and partly curious. "Sure thing, mate."

"It's nuzhing bad_,_ just somezhing you alone can appreciate."

Sniper, uncomfortable in even the dullest of limelight, was now the center of attention, and he wasted no time in getting up and getting the hell away from said center, pointedly ignoring Scout's plaintive cries for a fresh cooler of drinks as he passed.


	2. Chapter 2

Medic wasn't lying about the temperature - it was positively _sweltering_ inside; Sniper hadn't been in the building but half a minute and already felt himself perspiring. He followed the doctor - who for some odd reason kept one hand trailing the wall as if he'd lose his balance otherwise - through dim hallways to his office. More of an overgrown closet with a window, everyone knew Medic didn't have much use for the place and no one wondered why.

"This gonna take long, Doc?" asked Sniper, watching as Medic dug for something in a box behind his desk.

"I _said_ only a minute, ja?"

Actually, he hadn't. Sniper went to the window and opened it, relishing the cooler air of the outside, slight though it was, content to wait. When at long last the doctor joined him he held, of all things, an instrument. A violin.  
Sniper stared. He'd seen violins before of course, but this … this was unlike any other, all funeral black and silver stringed, expertly crafted and without flaw, its coat of gloss reflecting a kind of liquid radiance like sun on water.

"Beautiful, hm?" said Medic, his voice soft and smiling.

Sniper stared. He'd never been one to get caught up in the aesthetics of anything, but _this_ _..._  
There was something else, too - something he couldn't quite account for. It was silly, but the thing made him feel … uneasy somehow … apprehensive … as if a hidden danger were being held in plain sight, only he was too caught up in the dark charm and dazzling string-taut smile, sinister as scalpels.  
And if he didn't look away in time …

"So's this it then?" he said, wiping sweat from his eyes in a valiant attempt to clear his head. "You called me in here about a violin?"

Medic laughed (there was nothing funny) and set the instrument down on his desk. "No, of course not! I called you in here about a dream."

"A dream?"

"Yes!"

Sniper frowned. "I don't follow."

Medic dropped unceremoniously into his desk-chair, not bothering to stop himself from rolling a short distance backwards and into a bookshelf. "You should," he said, grinning. "You vere zhe vun to introduce me to zhe idea, after all."

Sniper was not impressed. Exactly what was going on here? The heat made thinking difficult enough without this all bizarre behavior and cryptic talk. The way Medic was acting he'd half expected a bloody wink just now. "Doc," he said, "just what are you on about?"

"Remember vhen you told me about Zhe Dreaming, Herr Sniper?"

"Yeah, mate. Course I do." The Dreaming; a period not of creation but rather formation of both land and life, according to the Australian natives. He wondered what this had to do with anything.

"And remember vhat you said about dreams _in relation_ to Zhe Dreaming?"

"Uh ... yeah?" As one might surmise, dreams were intricately tied to The Dreaming, serving as a link between the physical and the nonphysical, a place where ancestors and spirits alike could communicate with the liv … ing.

Oh dear.

Sniper had made an unsettling connection, a realization not helped by the mound of empty beer bottles he'd just spotted in the trash. So this is what the doctor had been up to all day.

"I've tried rejecting zhe idea, you understand," Medic was saying now, "of zhis particular dream having any real significance, but I do believe, zhat is to say, if it's true - if zhe rumor is true - zhen I zhink … I might just know of-"

_...a way to end this heat,_ thought Sniper. _A way bring the rain._ He remembered the story well enough; sympathetic sky spirits, appeals for rain, relief from extreme drought ...

Rubbish. Total crap.

"Coldies got ya feelin' pretty good then, eh Doc?" he said, and Medic's smile faltered, the slang obviously lost on him.

"Look, I know where you're goin' with this, alright, and I want this heat to be done with as much as any of us but Doc, indigenous spirits did _not_ pay you a visit, mate. And they sure as hell didn't tell ya how to _'bring the rain'_. It's a product of wishful thinkin' is all; one dream-"

"Seven."

"What?"

"Seven," repeated Medic. "Seven dreams. One every night for a veek."

Well. That was something.

"You zhink it means nuzhing."

Sniper chuckled. "Nah, I don't think it, Doc. I _know_ it. I also know you've been drinkin'." He made for the door. Nothing more to be done here.

"I don't much care for zhe accusation, Herr Sniper," said Medic, and Sniper stopped dead in his tracks. He might have imagined it, but there had seemed a decidedly sober edge to the German's voice just now.

"Okay, look, I - I appreciate the sentiment, alright? Really, I do. But those Dreaming stories? That's all they were, mate! Stories!"

"So you never believed ..."

Believed? He'd listened and respected, yes, as much as one of a certain creed and culture can respect that of another ... but believe?

"Course not! _Yours _were all stories, right? Made up?"

Medic's expression was vacant; no way he could counter _that_. Except he did.

"To be fair zhey schooled me vell in zhe vays of human nature."

So! The man was officially and absolutely out of his senses.

"Doc," said Sniper with finality, "this is ridiculous. It was a story, alright? Fictitious. Next you'll be tellin' me ya believe in, what, giant supernatural snakes as well?"

His tone was one of irritation and, if he was truthful, not reserved for the doctor alone. _Should've kept your mouth shut, eh sharpshooter? Should've kept to yourself as is your custom._ But, no. Instead he'd answered all the questions, told all the tales, and, like an idiot, encouraged Medic's childlike enthusiasm for it all. _Now look what's happened._

A bead of sweat inched its way down his back.  
_This heat ..._  
By now Sniper was convinced if he could get away from it for just five minutes then he'd be able to think clearly, to provide a solid argument, set Medic straight once and for all. But then all the old laws of the world appeared to be suspended; Reason was failing where Reason should succeed and nothing was familiar, the doctor's behavior first and foremost.  
Where was his immaculate white coat? _Where was his sensibility?_

Medic never did answer. He was leaning back in his chair now, staring at the ceiling.

"Not that I care," said Sniper, meaning he cared very much, "but exactly how were you planning to see this idea of yours through?"

Medic's lip curled. "You tell me," he said, "since you know so much."

When Sniper didn't answer he sighed, sighed and then pointed.

The violin.

"With _that_?!"

"My petition," said Medic.

"Your _delusion,_" Sniper corrected. Again there was silence, and a quiet energy. "I'm gonna go now," he said.

"And I'm disappointed. You of all people-"

"Oh, don't be unreasonable, Doc!"

"Zhere's nuzhing unreasonable in _trying_, Herr Sniper!" Curled lip be damned, now the fangs were bared, the ears back, the hackles up ...

"Furzhermore, I am confused as to vhy you find zhis so objectionable. Zhis has no bearing on you. If I fail zhen it's myself who is humiliated, no vun else. _Verstehen Sie?_"

"Ever think maybe I don't wanna see that happen?" said Sniper. "Scout, for one, would never let you live it down. Surely ya see how crazy this is?!"

"Crazier zhan zhe Uber implant?" asked Medic. He was playing, but Sniper wasn't amused.

"_Yes. _Crazier than that. Forget it won't work - stand out in this heat and you'll make yourself sick, mate."

"Vell I can't go out at night, can I? Night is for sleeping, no?"

"_Doc!?_ _Wha-!?_"

Poking fun hadn't worked. Appeal to emotion hadn't worked. Hard logic hadn't worked. So what was left? He was out of options and suddenly felt very tired.

"You'll get sunburn, y'know." A lame last resort.

Medic laughed a bit. "Zhe least of my concerns."

Finally, in the half-light and the haze, Sniper gave up. "I can't talk you outta this ... can I?"

Medic looked apologetic. "No."

"Right."

Right.

He made his exit then, stealing a wary glance at Medic's violin - that dark jewel - on his way out. Like something right out of one of those bloody Brothers Grimm stories, the play-thing of some terrible fey queen, that when it was won away took a little of her magic with it.

"By zhe vay," called Medic, "you should talk to zhem if you get zhe chance."

Sniper, already halfway down the hallway, called back. "What?"

"Zhe spirits! Some of zhem are a little austere, but …"

He kept walking.


End file.
